Sunday morning 10 am

Everyone else seems still asleep.

At the table I am reading an old magazine and sipping freshly made coffee.

I have no big plans for today.

Outside the scouts are out in their little boats, complete with helmet and life jackets.

They make me think about the little boy who sat behind us in the theatre of the Barbican last night.

Totally mesmerised by the spectacle of Peter Pan by the National Theatre of Scotland.

At one point he got up from his chair and leaned so much forward I thought he might fall in my sister’s lap.

Untouched by social etiquette he  still ooh’d and aaah’d out loud at Peter’s flying antics and wondered at the little flying fire that represented Tinkerbell the Fire Fairy. ( “Is that Real Fire mum? Is it really real?”)

It was evident that he had read up on the story as you could hear him mumbling comments on the characters and actions. Perhaps this would have been annoying with anyone else but the best part was that he didn’t even seem comment consciously or to anyone in particular. He was just sucked into the story.

Nobody seemed to mind, and I noticed more than a few suppressed sniggers in our row when he cringed even louder at Mr and Mrs Darling’s celebrating a happy ending (” Eew why do they have to kiss? It’s disgusting!”)

When the play ended it was nearly 10pm but his eyes were aglow.

Last night magic happened for seat 16 row G.

Back to coffee and magazine.

I am considering putting a DVD on but perhaps not.

Maybe I’ll enjoy the silence for just a little bit longer…

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